Chapter 35

Chapter

Thirty-Five

The morning light creeps in,nudging me awake far earlier than usual. I lie there for a moment, the quiet hum of the ocean in the distance, a constant reminder of the serene life I"ve built here in Mystic Hollow. Yet, the peace I usually find in these early hours eludes me today, my mind replaying the events of yesterday, each moment spent with Claire leaving a lingering warmth, a gentle echo of laughter and shared secrets.

With a sigh, I push myself out of bed, the need for movement, for doing something, anything, to quiet the restlessness that"s taken hold. It"s an impulse that leads me to the garage, to the boxes I"ve long avoided, relics of a life that feels both a lifetime ago and just yesterday.

I drag one such box into the living room, the weight of it more than just physical. Dust motes dance in the slant of sunlight as I pry it open, the contents a jumbled collection of past accolades and memories. My hand hovers before grasping the edge of a frame, pulling out the Rookie of the Year award—a tangible reminder of dreams realized and paths diverged.

I place it on the mantle, the only adornment in a space I"ve kept intentionally sparse, a canvas yet to be filled. The award stands solitary, a beacon of past glories, yet in its isolation on the mantle, it seems more a question than a declaration, a prompt to consider what I value, what I want to display, not just on a shelf, but in my life.

Compelled by a sudden urge for companionship, for a piece of the family I"ve lost, I find myself in the kitchen, rummaging through drawers until my fingers close around the familiar frame. It"s the picture of Sam and me, a snapshot of simpler times, of brotherhood and unwavering support. I place it next to the award, and suddenly, the mantle doesn"t feel so empty anymore. It"s a small gesture, but one that bridges the gap between past and present, between the person I was and the one I"m becoming.

As I step back, taking in the two pieces side by side, a rookie award and a photograph, it strikes me how much of my life has been about accolades and achievements, about proving something, first to the world, then to myself. But yesterday, with Claire, it wasn"t about what I had done or what I could do; it was about connection, about laughter and shared moments of genuine joy.

The realization settles over me like the first light of dawn, gentle yet illuminating. It"s not the trophies or the titles that define us, but the relationships we forge, the moments of vulnerability we share. Standing there, in the quiet of my living room, I feel the beginnings of a shift, a softening of the walls I"ve built around my heart.

As the day stretches before me, I"m left with a sense of clarity, a recognition of the possibilities that lie in openness and connection. And as I consider the empty spaces of my home, of my life, I can"t help but wonder about the pieces yet to be added, about the stories yet to be told. The mantle, once bare, now holds a promise, a reminder that it"s not just about the past we display, but the future we"re willing to build.

Feeling a surge of spontaneity, I pull out my phone, my thumbs flying over the screen as I type out a message to my friends. It's high time this place felt like a home, not just a house standing as a monument to my past. The text message invites Jasper and Iris, Avery and Troy, Eliza, Gigi, a few surfing buddies, and yes, Claire, to an impromptu gathering.

"Housewarming party," I type, a hint of irony in the words. "Three years overdue. Come over tonight at seven."

I hit send before I can second-guess myself. Within minutes, responses start to ping back—a chorus of affirmation that warms me more than I want to admit. Jasper's text buzzes with his typical humor, "About time you let us dirty up the place." Iris sends a string of heart emojis, and Eliza promises to bring some of her infamous cupcakes. Claire's reply is simple, yet it sends a jolt of anticipation through me: "Wouldn't miss it."

The thought of Claire back in this space, of her laughter echoing through these halls, stirs something deep within me. It's a vision that feels right, like a missing piece slotting into place.